God in the ordinary and extraordinary

Readers of my Diary of a Donkeybody blog may remember that early in our time here I had many early mornings communing with a irritatingly cheerful robin, who would sing at all hours of the night in the shrubs outside our bedroom. I grumbled ungratefully about him, and then in the cruellest cut of all we had the shrubs removed and replaced them with a couple of, as yet, spindly trees. And the robin deserted us. I can't blame him. In the past few weeks, a replacement has come. He doesn't start at midnight, as his predecessor used to, but I've heard him from three o'clock onwards. In fact I was listening to him this morning. And so far, I've not complained.

When Jane was rushed to hospital on the Tuesday before Christmas, lying alone in her rather bleak hospital room, collar-bone splintered, a not-so-dim light in the corridor outside, her mood matched her surroundings. Such is my surmise. Maybe she was also wondering how I'd cope without her.... In those sorts of situation one does wonder what God's up to, whether maybe he's taken his eye off you for a moment. Suddenly in the concrete jungle of the John Radcliffe Hospital a robin sang outside her window, and it seemed to Jane that even there her Creator God was present, after all. That's why I'm not going to grumble any more when robins wake me up at an unearthly hour, because as I've said before it was very clear that God was always on our case even when she fell. You may remember what Jesus had to say about birds: "What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it." It's a reasonable deduction that the same is true of us - which is, it has to be said, hard to get your mind round. 

It takes time to assimilate. So here's something that might help. Lillian Boutté singing 'His eye on the sparrow'. It's a video made a couple of years ago in our old church in Oxfordshire, at memorial concert for a friend. The great thing is that Lillian believes every word. And so do I, except that when I sing I sound more like an owl than a robin.

And here are two more things that make me feel God is on our case: the service I'm getting from the NHS and our local MNDA branch. Perhaps it's more to do with the love I experience through and around them. For example, a fortnight ago I was enjoying a chocolate - no, it wasn't hard-centred - and out popped a big old filling. So we booked an emergency appointment; our son took a day's holiday (no less!) since Jane can't drive or hoik me around. A nice new dentist dealt with it painlessly and I was out. Three days later, it was soft baked potato that did for the inner wall of the same tooth. This time, John whose wife died just before Christmas came to the rescue with his converted Fiat Doblo (for sale, by the way, if you're interested, vgc, low mileage) in the back of which I rode in style in my wheelchair. Another young dentist dealt with me at the clinic and I've had no trouble since.... What's struck me was how ready everyone, family, friends and professionals are to accommodate and help. That's quite special.

Lesley, MNDA branch secretary

On the Saturday between dental visits we had our first branch meeting of the year. Again it was a case of our son chauffeuring both ways. The overwhelming feeling I come away with from such meetings is how many people care about those of us with the conditions, from volunteers such as Lesley, the secretary, to the professionals such as the top-class team who do the research and coordinate care in the area. There's no question but that they are motivated by determined kindness. It's humbling to be on the receiving end - and I'm grateful, grateful to them, and grateful to God for them.